American Psycho: The American Dream (WIP)
by spadefantasy
Summary: About a year after the entire fiasco surrounding a missing employee at Pierce & Pierce endured, Patrick Bateman finds himself safe from being any type of suspect when Paul Allen returns back to the workplace. Although Bateman's hatred towards the man still seethes, he's able to move on and keep trying to live his "trendy" lifestyle and find the so-called "American Dream."
1. Meeting Her Parents

**American Psycho does not belong to me.**

**This is simply an AU of mine that takes place after the movie (and borrows parts from the book). I'm posting this to get the AU in order and to help myself, so this is really just a personal thing than much else. However, if you do read, enjoy.**

* * *

Jean and I are driving down a dirt road and I realize that I absolutely despise places like this. We're going to meet her parents since we're engaged. It's only just now happening because they live in another state (Tennessee to be exact) and we finally made plans to go see them. Jean is driving and she seems nervous. She's been nervous about this entire trip actually, so I decide to try and make her feel better about it.

"It'll be fine, Jean," I tell her, looking out the window to see us pass a field of cows. I don't really like Tennessee that much so far, but maybe it'll surprise me. Besides, I haven't even gotten out of the car other than to stay at a few hotels. Though, Jean told me we would be staying with her parents for the week of the trip.

She sighs in response, "I'm just stressed is all. My parents never liked any of my other boyfriends."

"I don't think I'm like your other boyfriends."

"You're not," she laughs, shaking her head a little. "That's why I'm worried. My parents don't really trust… er… _city folk._" I look over to her, amused, because that sounds absolutely ridiculous. I stifle back a laugh and clear my throat. Jean speaks again, changing the conversation topic, "Are you sure you don't even want to get a permit?"

She's talking about a driving permit. She had sworn to me that she wanted to teach me how to drive, but every time an opportunity came I came up with an excuse not to. I don't really see the point in learning how to drive, not when other people had drove me my entire life. I had grown used to the idea of cabs, even if their drivers were complete idiots at times. "I mean, I totally could," I say. "But I don't see the point. You can drive. I can take a cab if you don't feel like carpooling me." I smile at her jokingly and when she glances over at me I think she lets a small giggle escape her.

Jean grins, "Are you sure you're not just _scared?_"

"Scared? Why would I be scared, Jean? Of course not."

"I think you're just scared," she teases.

I give her a look before pursing my lips into a tight lipped smile, "Okay. Maybe I am scared, but I don't think I really want to admit it." She laughs then, proceeding to turn the A/C up. It's a bit hot since it's the summertime.

There's a pause in between our conversation until Jean talks again. "Maybe don't mention you can't drive with my parents," she admits, gritting her teeth. "They're… traditional."

"You know… "traditional" is just the polite term for 'close minded,'" I tell her, squinting in her direction until she notices. She waves it off and nods, knowing what I said is right because that's exactly how she meant it. I suddenly give her a sly smirk, "How traditional are we talking about, Jean?"

"My dad owns a butcher shop and my mom has always been a housewife. She never had a job. She married right out of high school, Patrick," she explains, letting a heavy breath escape her. "Oh, that reminds me… don't talk about politics, sexism, racism, or anything touchy with them, okay?"

"Christ, what _can _I talk about then?" I joke.

She tightens her grip on the steering wheel a little, "Don't joke like that! You know I'm stressed out about this."

I nod and put my hand up defensively, giving her a small fit of laughter. I look back out the window for a split second to see more cows, in which I notice a specific one awkwardly chewing at a bush instead of the grass, before I take my attention back to Jean. "Okay, Jean, I have an idea. I'll tell them I love country music. I'll even dress up in cowboy boots and a plaid shirt. Christ, might as well throw the hat in there too," I tease, in which I can see Jean grow a little annoyed. "Oh, Jean, I'll be the best man they had ever met."

"Stop being such an ass," she grumbles, though I can hear the faint sound of playfulness in her voice, despite how much she wants to act like she's mad at me. She turns and I can tell we're suddenly going down a long driveway towards what would be her parents' house. "I'm happy you opted for no suit," she tells me. "I know they would've judged you as soon as you walked through the door…"

I'm wearing faded jeans and a red Polo shirt. I figured I didn't exactly have to dress up to meet people from Tennessee. I packed my bags mostly with casual clothing, though I did bring a few suits just in case we went out to eat or something. Though, I figure now there probably won't be any five star restaurants near all these cow fields.

"Aren't suits normally-" I begin, but Jean cuts me off.

"My parents don't like men in suits, either, Patrick."

"Ohmygod," I groan. "Jean, I can't believe you're related to small town rednecks. Hillbillies? Oh, what's the difference?" Jean's hand slaps my shoulder before going back to the steering wheel. We begin to drive up to a house then, in which I'm surprised that it's bigger than I expected. It actually isn't the small trailer that I pictured, but a rather nice brick home protected by a gate. I'm almost in shock that Jean's parents have some kind of money, especially if they only have an income of a butcher shop. I look to Jean, "How… big is that butcher shop?"

"Okay," she grits her teeth, realizing she was caught up in a lie. "It's more of a slaughterhouse. But I don't like calling it that. I hate that place…"

"Your father owns a slaughterhouse? That makes a lot more sense."

Jean pulls up to the gate intercom and presses the button to speak. We wait a few moments before someone answers, "Who is it?" I can hear a country twang from the other end and I somewhat want to cringe, but I hold it in.

"It's Jean, Mom."

"Oh! Come on in!"

The gate opens and we pull up in in front of the house, parking the car so we could get our things. Jean cuts the car off and takes her seatbelt off, I follow, but we sit there in silence for a few minutes in thought. I realize I might not be able to handle this, but I'd have to get through a week of this torture for Jean. "Ready?" I ask with a fake smile, opening up my door. Jean sighs and nods. We open up the trunk and get our suitcases as we walk up to the front door, in which Jean goes to knock but is stopped when it opens up to reveal an older woman.

"Oh, baby!" The woman lets out, hugging Jean before she can even make it into the house. I stand there awkwardly because I'm not sure what else to do. As I watch Jean hug her mother back and talk with her, I realize I'm soon being pulled into the house with her. The door closes behind me and Jean's mother is looking at me with a big smile.

She's wearing a yellow blouse with dark blue jeans. I couldn't guess the clothing brands, not that I would want to anyway. "So, is this my new son-in-law?" she asks Jean, and I nod in response to save her the headache. Her mother suddenly hugs me and I feel my stomach tighten up. Why the hell is she hugging me? I could see Jean giving a fearful look in the corner of my eye, and I give a heavy sigh, in which I decide not to bark at this old woman for touching me for Jean's sake. "My name is Charlotte but you can call me "Mom," honey," she jokes, pulling away from me with a laugh. She tells us to go ahead and put our things in the guest room so we can hurry back to meet Jean's father.

We walk upstairs together to find our room, and when I close the door and set my suitcases down I look at Jean. Jean looks back at me and we basically stare at each other for a mere thirty seconds before I say, "We need a code word."

"A code word for what?"

"A code word for when I can't handle your parents anymore," I admit. "Jean, she hugged me after knowing me for literally five seconds."

"Patrick, they're not that bad. You haven't even met my dad yet."

"I'm not looking forward to meeting him after that."

Jean shoots me a look but I ignore it. She grabs my hand and basically drags me back downstairs, in which I give small whines in protest, but none of it convinces her to stop. Instead, we end up in the living room, greeted by her parents and hideous interior designing. There's a deer head hanging above the fireplace, a cowskin rug for the centerpiece of the room, and an ugly beige that paints the walls. I push away my thoughts of the design and focus on Jean's parents.

Her father walks over to me and puts his hand out for a handshake. He has a beard that reminds me of a lumberjack, and when I look down I realize he's wearing cowboy boots and a plaid shirt like I had joked about in the car earlier. I grip his hand in a firm handshake, lending him a fake smile. "It's nice to finally meet'cha," he tells me. "I've been wanting to meet the man that's lucky enough to marry my daughter here. Name's Owen. And you?"

"Patrick," I reply, taking my hand away since we finally stop shaking. "Patrick Bateman."

"Well, Pat," he so dearly calls me. "I hope you can prove to me you're good enough for my daughter. I don't recall you ever asking for a blessing."

"A blessing? You're serious?"

Jean laughs and shakes her head, "Patrick's just not used to all that, Daddy. I mean, you know he's from New York." Jean is trying to save me from whatever I had just said.

There's a silence.

"Oh, is this the same fella you… work for?" Owen asks her. I can sense disapproval in his voice. I realize Jean told them about us before, which is understandable, but obviously they didn't quite like us together. The traditional thing was starting to make more sense the more I knew them.

I decide to say something on her behalf, "Yeah, she's my secretary. I don't think it really matters that much." I kiss her cheek as to show them how much I love her. I look back over to her parents, and although they still don't seem happy about it, they decide to brighten up anyway.

Her father jokes and calls me a "Yank," telling me that he had met a few employees and business partners from up North before. I act interested and smile, nodding before I sit down on the couch with Jean. I ask them if they have any plans for our trip down here, and they tell me they're excited to show me around their town. They explain that they're going to take me to the Summer Festival, and that they're going to take me to their church, and that they're going to take me to do something called mudding. The last part doesn't sound very up my alley.

"That all sounds… very fun," I lie, trying to get on their good side. "I'm really happy to finally meet you two."

Jean smiles and leans her head on my shoulder, "Patrick is a lot different than my other boyfriends, but I think it's for the best, you know."

Charlotte laughs, "What about that one boy? What was his name? He was one of the McKinney boys."

"The quarterback?"

"That's the one."

"His name was Bobby, Mom," Jean sighs, obviously disliking the memory. "We went out for a few dates before he dumped me for another girl. A cheerleader." I look to Jean then because I'm surprised to hear such a thing. I don't know if I'm more surprised that she got dumped or that her mother basically just said someone named _Bobby _would probably be better than me.

We talk for a little more, though Jean's mother leaves to make dinner. Owen tells us to go ahead and get situated in our room because he knows we probably didn't get time to put our clothes away. He says that he'll call us down when dinner is ready. Jean and I go back upstairs into our room and I close the door, sighing before plopping my main suitcase down and unzipping it. I grab some of my shirts and turn to the dresser in front of the bed, opening up a drawer and putting my clothes in. I continue this cycle without saying a word. Jean seems to follow in my footsteps.

"Patrick?" she suddenly lets out.

"Yeah?"

"I know this is going to be hard for you," Jean puts the rest of her clothes away and I follow suit. "I just want you to know that it means a lot to me." She takes the suitcase off the bed and sets it on the ground, sitting on the edge of the bed and gesturing for me to sit next to her. I do as she wants. "Really. I mean it. I really do, Patrick."

I smile at her and peck her on the lips, "I know, Jean."

We sit there for a minute before I lean back and let out a groan. I stretch my arms and legs, "I just can't believe you're the byproduct of those two." Jean lays down next to me and rests her head on my chest. I slow my breathing somewhat, starting to relax, "I mean, you're like, nothing like them."

"I know."

"Thank God you aren't," I tell her. I kiss the top of her head and close my eyes for a moment. We lay like this for what feels like forever, listening to each other's breathing and not saying anything. Though I know in the back of my head it's bound to end because I remember we have dinner soon. I hope that the food won't be terrible. I sigh and try to clear my mind, making sure to keep my relaxing state.

… but then Jean's mother calls us for dinner and I realize this perfect little moment has to end.


	2. Mud and Brunch

**American Psycho and the characters don't belong to me.**

**So, I'm working on this again. I'll also have a new chapter of _Journals_ (_The Drake-Croft Journals_) up soon! **

* * *

I managed to survive three days so far. I absolutely am beginning to despise everything about this place. I notice every time we sit down to eat, Jean's parents seem to find something that goes against me. Last night it was how I didn't give a big enough tip to the waiter we had, even though our waiter was decent at best.

Monday we had stayed in since that was when we first got here. Tuesday we had walked around town, her parents giving us a tour. Wednesday we had went to the Summer Festival; it consisted of merchants, booths, fair games and basic carnival rides. Jean and I rode a few, and then we played some games to try and win a prize. At the balloon popping booth I had managed to throw the darts at every balloon I had needed to get to win a prize. I only partially won because I used to have a dart board with Paul Allen's picture on it. I had given Jean the large stuffed kangaroo I won.

Today, Jean's parents are urging for us to get ready and wear our "outside clothes." I want to hope that we're hiking but part of me knows we won't be. I sigh as I slip on a white t-shirt, "Where are we going, Jean? Do you know?"

"I have an idea." She's shimmying into a pair of tight shorts with a few grunts before she finally says, "My parents used to take me as a kid…" If that were the case, then I didn't exactly want to go.

My stomach twists up into a knot as I sit down on the bed and strap on a pair of boots that Jean had bought me before we had left for the trip. I don't want to think what we will do today will be horrible, but I know in the back of my head it will be. I chew at the inside of my cheek before getting to my feet, looking over to Jean with a longing gaze. I imagine we're back home and doing our respective roles we've grown used to. As I sit down on the couch with her, she gives me a dazzling smile that seems to blind me. This fake memory calms me before I realize I'm back in my horrid reality.

When Jean and I come downstairs, her parents are already waiting for us by the front door so we could go ahead and leave. I'm starting to grow weary and fearful over where we are going. Owen grips onto my shoulder and pulls me into his side almost, "These past few days have been mighty fun, don't ya think?" At first I think he might be being sarcastic, but I think he actually means it when I look him in the face. I sigh and decide not to start anything today. I just wanted this over with.

* * *

By the time we had gotten to the surprise, I had already realized I hated it. It was the dreaded "mudding" they had told me about that I still knew nothing of. When we arrived, all I saw were cars and people covered in mud. Filthy. They were filthy.

When we begin to walk out into the main area, I look to Jean, "Honey, sweetie… I don't know what this is, but I can assure you I do _not _want to do it, pumpkin."

"I know, Patrick," Jean says, "I don't want to either…"

We stand there for a moment and I look around to see others completely covered in mud, cheering on a monster truck of sorts that was currently driving through the mud and slinging it everywhere. I didn't understand the point of this. Was there ever a point? I grit my teeth and I realize I'm starting to understand I completely loathe this trip.

Owen and Caroline walk over to us with these big smiles that I also realize I hate, and part of me wants to fucking dig their eyes out with a spoon, but another part of me stays calm and flashes a smile back to them. "Ain't this nice?" Caroline asks me, and for once I am speechless. How do I answer that? The real answer is no; this place is a joke and a terrible one at that. Because I don't want to piss them off right now, I decide to go with my gut and give them the fake answer instead.

"I guess so. I've never really been to a place like this before," I reply, though another truck passes by and slings mud onto all of us. I let out a curse under my breath and growl, though everyone else seems to be cheering over this. Jean is the only other sane one, she is just as mad as I look. I clear my throat and give a tight lipped smile to them, "What is this again?"

"It's just a fun little thing," Caroline lets out, "Watching trucks… getting dirty… just a fun passing time thing."

I don't understand how this could be fun but I try to act like I care. I nod to Caroline before sighing and turning away so they can't see my face. My smile falls into a scowl, and I'm eyeing each and everyone here and thinking about how sweet it would be to take in their deaths. I pinch the bridge of my nose, "How long are we going to be here, Jean?"

Jean shrugs, "I don't know. I hope not long…"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Pat," she suddenly says. "I know this isn't something you want to do. It's not even something _I_ want to do. It's just that—"

"It's fine, Jeanette," I reply. "I guess I can handle getting mud on me if that means you'll be happy." I look over to her and she's smiling then, her white teeth contrasting from the mud on her face. She laughs softly and wipes some of the mud off her face then. "Jean? I think you might be adopted," I say aloud, and she laughs even more in response.

She puts her hands on my chest, "Patrick."

"No, I'm serious. I mean, you act nothing like them," I laugh. "I really don't think you were ever a Baker."

Even though I'm covered in mud, I'm somewhat enjoying this moment, as uncomfortable as I am. Her parents suddenly come back into the picture, standing next to us and watching us over. "He does seem a lot different than your other boyfriends," Owen notices, looking me over. "I don't think I _ever _saw any of your boys treat you like that."

Caroline blushes and is happy about her daughter being in a new and refreshing relationship. She rests her head against Owen's shoulder, "This is great, baby. I'm glad you finally met a good one!" These statements were different from earlier this week, but I decide not to mention that. Instead, I give them a toothy grin to show them what they were saying was true.

Jean nods, "Yeah… And you guys are still coming to the wedding, right?"

"Why would we miss it?" Caroline laughs. "We wouldn't miss it for anything in the world."

Jean's smile grows at this, "Right."

I rub at Jean's back but I suddenly remember I am covered in mud again. Looking down at myself, I realize I might just skip washing my clothes and buy new ones. I also realize my shower will be longer than usual because I'll have to scrub all of this dirt out my skin. I grit my teeth, the anger I had earlier slowly coming back and being directed towards most everyone present. "Christ," I mutter, not hiding my emotions. "Jean…"

"What is it?" she whispers.

"This," I say lowly. "I hate this. I fucking hate this."

She sighs and nods in response, "Honey, so do I. I'm sorry." Jean's reply means that she didn't know how to fix this mess.

* * *

After about an hour of being there, I'm already ready to leave. I'm dirty, tired, and sick of everyone there.

"How long are we going to be here?" I ask.

"Maybe another hour or so," Owen replies. Great. Not the answer I wanted to hear.

I turn to look at a few other people there more closely then. There's an overweight man with his family, he is wearing a baseball cap that reads "Got Jesus?" He is holding hands with a sickly woman who is wearing a tie dye shirt with the graphic of a lion on it, and by their feet are two little kids. Two boys. One is wearing sandals, the other is wearing tennis shoes. I hope that my children will look nothing like them.

A heavy breath escapes me and I realize I'm desperate to leave and take a shower. I squeeze my eyes shut before holding onto my head and scrunching my face. "I don't mean to ruin the, er, _party_, but I think I'm getting a migraine," I say, hoping they'll buy my lie. Owen and Caroline frown at me. They're probably angry that I'm wanting to leave so badly. Somehow, my lie works, and they tell me we'll leave right away. I follow after them with Jean back to the car, a cool wave of relief washing over me.

"Good going," Jean whispers, looking over herself. "I'm so ready to take a shower."

* * *

I'm sitting back at my desk a week later and I can still feel the mud on my skin even though I've been scrubbing at my skin violently in every shower I have took. I remember when we first took a shower after the mud, I managed to break skin on my knuckles from scrubbing my hands so hard. The memories of Jean's parents are haunting me and I suddenly realize I'm happy that my father is dead and that my mother is just as ill as I am. My father would've hated my relationship just as much as Jean's parents hates it. My mother seems to be the only parent of this entire situation to truly enjoy it and be happy for us.

I turn on the TV to watch an episode of Jeopardy but I am met by the news instead. The reporter on TV is speaking about a recent murder that took place. A woman's head was cut off, the head was found at someone's door waiting for them. Sloppy. Not very efficient. Whoever did it is screaming to be caught. Sighing, I turn the TV off and suddenly have no interest in watching Jeopardy as before. I look at my watch and see I still have an hour or two until lunch. I'm thinking about leaving early since Jean isn't here. Maybe I could go see her, considering she's busy with planning the wedding lately.

I decide to call her. "Hello?" she answers.

"Jean, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting the invitations for our _wedding_, honey."

"Listen, could we meet early for brunch or something? I don't have anything to do here," I beg.

Jean goes silent on the other end before she answers me. "I guess so. Where do you want to meet? And _don't_ say Texarkana, you know I hate that place," she mutters, though I wasn't planning on saying that restaurant to begin with.

I smile somewhat, leaning back in my chair. "Pastel's?"

"That works. When do you want to meet?"

"Uh, how about at around 11:30? We won't need reservations, the place has been dead lately."

"...And you want to go there?"

"I just want to be with you, silly," I explain to her. She giggles in response, obviously enjoying what I had said. She tells me that'll be fine, and that she'll see me there. "Okay. I love you."

"I love you too, bye," she hangs up, leaving me alone again. I stand up and grab my suit jacket that hung on my door, not exactly wanting to stay in my office much longer. After grabbing the rest of my things, I go to leave.

* * *

Jean is sitting across from me drinking a bloody mary. She has a journal open in front of her, the same journal she's been using for our wedding planning, and a pen sits on top of the pages. When she finishes her sip of bloody mary, she smiles at me, grabbing the ballpoint pen between her index finger and thumb. She's ready to write something.

"I have our family and I have all of the people _I'm_ inviting to the wedding written down, but I need some input from you, mister," she tells me.

I drink from my J&B. "Are you inviting your friends from Boston?"

"Of course I am, Patrick."

"Wait… Greg and Pamela or Hewy and Julie?"

"All of them."

"Oh."

"_Patrick_, who are we inviting?" she asks me again, exaggerating my name so I would listen. I grab my fork and take a bite of my arugula and pistachio pesto quiche. She watches me eat. I can sense a form of annoyance.

Swallowing my food, I grin to her. "Okay. I give in," I tell her. I begin to play with my fork as I start to think on who we should invite.

"And I need first _and_ last names."

"Okay, well… Tim."

"Oh, I actually already have Timothy on here," she laughs.

I take another bite of my food. As I chew, I realize who else I need to invite. "David Van Patten. Craig McDermott, and a plus one just in case. Er… Charles and Nancy Hamilton, and their daughter. Marcus Halberstam and his entire group - Jamie Conway, Kevin Wynn, and Reed Thompson. Who am I forgetting here, Jean?"

"Maybe… um… Christopher Armstrong?"

"Oh… yeah, he can come."

Jean shakes her head as she writes the names down. Her handwriting is big and curvy. It's almost perfect. When the pen stops writing the 'g' in Armstrong's name, she looks back up at me with concern. "Should we invite Paul Allen?"

"Paul… Allen?"

"I know you don't exactly have the best relationship with him," she murmurs, knowing the suggestion was idiotic. "But maybe if you invited him it would help things. Not inviting him seems worse… besides… he invited you to his wedding."

I sigh. "I guess you're right," I admit, though I wish she wasn't.

Jean writes his name down, along with his wife's. I realize my mouth feels dry. I start to drink my J&B again. Ohmygod, Paul Allen is coming to my fucking wedding.

After writing down a few more names, Jean sets down the pen and closes the book. "I'm excited, you know," she looks down at her hands for a moment before she gives a breath. "But I'm nervous too. I don't know why."

"I think that's understandable." I place my hand over hers. She looks at me and smiles softly.

"Yeah. I just… I guess I'm worried about the future. I know most marriages end in divorce. You're a child of divorce... I don't want a divorce. I really love you, Patrick, so I wouldn't want that to happen."

"It won't."

She purses her lips. "Are you sure? You sound so sure," she laughs breathlessly and I can see her eyes are misting. "If you ever left me I'd just feel so empty again. I feel so whole with you." Her hand slips from under mine and she squeezes my hand. She's trying to find comfort, I don't know if I can give her any. "Patrick, I-"

"I would never leave you."

She furrows her brows but she's smiling. Gulping, she nods and realizes what I'm saying is true. "I'm sorry," she apologizes. "I don't know what got into me."

I lean forward and bring her hand up to mine, kissing her knuckles with a soft touch. "You're fine. Just stop having those thoughts, silly."


End file.
